Page 23 of Their Little Helper

“It was actually find afuckinghobby before I have a stroke.” Santos’s dry tone had us both turning toward him. “And it was only seventy last week because I had that fucking doctor’s appointment.”

I wasn’t sure if I liked being right or not but it wasn’t unexpected.

Santos sighed and somehow managed to keep glaring at the same time. It was a slightly distracting talent but I didn’t get sidetracked. “My great-grandparents started a baby food company that got bought out by one of the first conglomerates. Then their kids started several companies and my parents ended up in law.”

“See? I told you. They just can’t help it.” My family couldn’t help making kids and bad decisions, so we all had our crosses to bear.

At least I couldn’t get pregnant.

I could make wonderfully interesting decisions, though.

“You…you’re right about weird things.” Harley’s gaze bounced between me, his Papa, and the building. “I…I don’t mind it. Honest. I probably should’ve expected it.”

“Yep, rich people are always one deep breath away from shaking everyone around them. It’s the stress.” We’d help Pokey fix that. “It’s why he’s ended up needing two partners. One for helping him unwind and giving him someone to take care of and one for giving him someone to shake.”

Harley looked like he wanted to laugh, especially when his Papa sighed. “That’s ridiculous. I have two partners because you cheat and you’re somehow a package deal.”

That would’ve been more believable if he weren’t thinking about fucking me into the mattress.

“Aww, thanks, Pokey.” Taking Harley’s hand, I took a step toward Pokey and the entrance. “We’re ready. We just got sidetracked.”

“Yes.” Standing straighter, Harley smiled. “We’re ready.”

Pokey looked like he was ready to lecture both of us about something but he only glanced around and nodded. “Yes. Let’s head up.”

To the fancy-shmancy condo.

I was right…overstressed and rich.

Everything in its place and not a single speck of dust…he didn’t even have a pile of junk mail by the door.

“When does your housekeeper come over?” The first rule of dating rich was don’t fuck with the people who managed their lives.

“House manager. Mondays and Wednesdays. I’m not terribly messy but adding two people to the household means we might have to renegotiate that.” Pokey paused as we stepped into the living room which was thankfully not decorated in white and gray. It actually had warm wood tones and was a space my mother would like…once we gave it some personality. “I’m not sure if I need to explain toys for Harley or not.”

Our boy’s eyes were so wide I was starting to wonder if they’d actually fall out like an old Looney Toons episode.

“We’ll tackle that once it comes down to it.” That seemed like a Daddy conversation anyway. “Please let us know their weird rules that you pretend are your rules and any pet peeves they have.”

I was not taking over housekeeping duties just because I accidentally pissed them off.

That was a lesson I wasn’t going to have to learn a third time.

“I—” Pokey stopped before he could even begin to lie to himself. “For fuck’s sake.”

As I snickered, Harley’s eyes went back in his head because Pokey was so funny. He grumbled and even scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t care where you leave your shoes but Hanson does.”

Hanson was the housekeeper? Household manager? House manager?

I shrugged when Harley looked at me with that question clearly in his mind too.

“We’ll remember that.” And anything else he’d trained Pokey to do.

“Thank you for letting us know.” Harley didn’t seem to know what else to do but he glanced around and then down at his feet. “Um, where does he want them to go?”

“Good question.” Because it wasn’t obvious. There were no baskets, no cubbies with names on them, and he didn’t even have that shoe drawer thing that we could buy at IKEA.

Maybe he didn’t know how fancy those were?

---